"I declare, it's a bird o' some sort."
"A prairie-hen," remarked Joe, as Crusoe laid the bird at Dick's feet;
"capital for supper."
"Ah! dat chien is superb! goot dog. Come here, I vill clap you."
But Crusoe refused to be caressed. Meanwhile, Joe and Dick formed a
sort of beehive-looking hut by bending down the stems of a tall bush
and thrusting their points into the ground. Over this they threw the
largest buffalo robe, and placed another on the ground below it, on
which they laid their packs of goods. These they further secured
against wet by placing several robes over them and a skin of
parchment. Then they sat down on this pile to rest, and consider what
should be done next.
"'Tis a bad look-out," said Joe, shaking his head.
"I fear it is," replied Dick in a melancholy tone.
Henri said nothing, but he sighed deeply on looking up at the sky,
which was now of a uniform watery gray, while black clouds drove
athwart it. The rain was pouring in torrents, and the wind began to
sweep it in broad sheets over the plains, and under their slight
covering, so that in a short time they were wet to the skin.
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